"You may love me," he answered, the passion suddenly vibrating in his tone. "I will be more faithful than any friend. I will build Paradise for you—wherever you will! I will build the walls so high that no harm or any fear shall pass them."
She waved him back. Something of the old look, which he hated so to see, was in her face.
"You must not talk to me like this, Mr. Wrayson," she said. "Indeed you must not."
"Why not?" he demanded. "If there is a reason I will know it."
She looked him steadily in the eyes.
"Can't you imagine one for yourself?" she asked.
He laughed scornfully.
"You don't understand," he said. "There is only one reason in the world that I would admit—I don't even know that I would accept that. The other things don't count. They don't exist."
She looked at him a little incredulously. She was still sitting, and he was standing now before her. Her fingers rested lightly upon the arms of her chair, she was leaning slightly forward as though watching for something in his face.
"Tell me that there is another man," he cried, "that you don't care for me, that you never could care for me, and I will go away and you shall never see my face again. But nothing short of that will drive me from you."
He spoke quickly, his tone was full of nervous passion. It never occurred to her to doubt him.
"You can be what else you like," he continued, "thief, adventuress—murderess! So long as there is no other man! Come to me and I will take you away from it all."
